


Licking His Lips

by SabineElectricHeart (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Class Differences, Clothing Kink, F/M, Innuendo, Jealousy, Lace, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/SabineElectricHeart
Summary: Dimitri is jealous when he sees his professor wearing her old mercenary clothes. This will not stand.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth, Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 55





	Licking His Lips

“Oh, professor!” Mecedes gushes as soon as they see their instructor coming over from the Archbishop’s room to the Entrance Hall. “Don’t you look lovely this morning?”

Dimitri frowns, keeping his eyes focused on the trunks in front of him. He might appreciate Mercedes and Annette as individuals, but whenever they come together, it was an ordeal. He hates the noise of their gossips and snickered laughter, he detests that sense of a hub of whispers and wasted time when there are things to do and more important subjects to address.

Byleth thanks the church ward politely, but that does not satisfy her pink-haired friend.

“Doesn’t the professor look lovely, Your Highness?” She snickers, and the blond noble thinks this whole affair had been carefully planned by their meddlesome scheming.

Not that he actually needed their help to express his appreciation towards their blue-haired professor.

He sighs. As much as he would like to, he cannot ignore the incessant prattle, so he sweeps his eyes from the shiny tops of Byleth’s riding boots, across her legs covered in black lace and armoured chest, to protect against wandering arrows, to her beautiful face, looking away from his scrutiny.

It had been over six Moons since Dimitri saw the comely woman in such a scandalous garb. He knew those were her travelling clothes, which she used often while a mercenary, but ever since she arrived in Garreg Mach, Seteth had provided her with an array of black and grey dresses to be worn in class, and while out on the field, she usually wore the nunnery habit of the monastery, proper of the magical classes she elected to use, to better assist their learning efforts.

Alas, in a couple of bells, they would depart to Gronder Field, for the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion. She had declined travelling with the Archbishop and Seteth, so she would be allowed a more comfortable wear, and, despite him also insisting that she travel with him on the Royal Carriage, she had pointed out that Dedue was much too heavy to ride the same horse all the way to the Bergliez hunting lodge, and it would be uncomfortable for the three of them to sit eight hours in such close proximity.

Byleth would ride with Rodrigue and the rest of the Royal Bodyguards in the front, which motivated her to dust her old outfit, but it also meant that Dimitri would have to watch that damn skirt to roll up, her breasts to move in the rhythm of the horse’s gallop, her navel exposed to the sun, and he would not be able neither to touch or even speak with her. It would be torture.

He wonders if he would be able to convincedly persuade Rodrigue to force his professor into ceremonial garb. At least they had long breeches.

“If that skirt were any higher, we would all be able see what you had for breakfast.” Dimitri snaps, ignoring the gasps around him as he turns on his heel.

He is not sure why he is in such a bad mood, or rather a worse mood than usual, as mornings were always difficult to him. His headache was under control, and he did catch some sleep the night before. Yet, the prince has moved from gruff to grumpy in a matter of seconds, and he finds his thoughts returning to the vision of the professor more than once as he finishes packing and giving orders to the guards.

It is not that he minds the skirt that sits a palm above her knee. In fact, he loves how easily it scrunches up to her waist as he leans her over his large desk, taking her from behind at every available opportunity, but he does mind that other people notice.

They are not official. They cannot be. He is a noble, a prince at that, and could not afford to court a mercenary in any official capacity, not to mention that her position in Garreg Mach was undoubtedly fraught, and a scandal would cement the idea that she had slept her way into her job, even though the Church would never allow such a thing.

His funk continues throughout the morning, and he is still out of sorts when he meets Sylvain and Felix at the training grounds, probably there to sneak a little bit of practice before the big day tomorrow.

Dimitri channels his rage into his routine, digging deeper than he has in a while.

“It would be best if you slow down, Your Highness. You do not want to hurt something today of all days!” Sylvain furrows his brow as he spots Dimitri’s lifts.

“I’m fine.” Dimitri grunts through gritted teeth.

He has starting to feel more than a little regret that he came here to try to decompress, since both of his equally-noble classmates have shown more than passing interest in Byleth over the last year.

Dimitri is admittedly less worried about Felix than he used to be, since his former friend does not seem that invested in anything other than becoming stronger and beating his sovereign into line, but something tells him Sylvain Gautier is still one to watch.

“Why are you so perky?” The prince asks the famed philanderer as they put away the training lances.

Sylvain shrugs, his grin stretching from one ear to another. “I started the day with my favourite thing.”

He wiggles his eyebrows and runs a tongue across his top lip, signalling he had enjoyed some sort of sexual activity in his room before dawn.

Felix frowns. “You are absolutely disgusting, Sylvain. Don’t you have anything better to do in the morning?”

Dimitri rolls his eyes and says a curt goodbye, but as the day stretches on infinitely, he wonders just who Sylvain is spending his mornings with.

Surely not Byleth? They’re together, right? Just because they cannot be public, it does not mean that she had the right to cuckhold him with the entire Faerghus nobility. He had maintaining unwavering fidelity; she could surely extend the same curtesy.

What does Sylvain even have that he does not? Certainly not beauty, wealth, a title or a Crest, as the prince has no shortage of any.

By the time of their departure towards the Imperial border, he is already at his wits’ end, particularly because he cannot find his professor anywhere. He spends the whole eight hours in the carriage grumbling and glaring at wheat fields and collapses into a restless sleep at his luxurious private room at the Lodge as soon as they arrive.

Though, sleep might be a misleading word. More accurately, he thrashes in the frilly bedsheets in Imperial fashion while being haunted by nightmares of Sylvain and Byleth doing the same thing just down the hall.

By the morning, before breakfast, he has a plan of action, and he pounces as soon as Byleth walks into his chambers.

“What the…” Her words are cut off as he presses his lips to hers, sandwiching her body between the door and his own as he locks the lock shut.

Her eyes widen in momentary surprise and then flutter closed as his lips trail down her neck and a hand works its way up her skirt.

“You are gorgeous.” Dimitri murmurs as he tastes the smooth skin above her collarbone.

“I thought you did not like this skirt, Dimitri.” Byleth teases.

His ice-blue eyes harden as he pulls back to meet her gaze.

“I like it just fine on my floor.” He tugs at the leather straps that held the fabric on her waist and it smoothly slides down her thighs. “Less so in the hallways, where anyone can see it.”

“So, this is what the whole commotion was about?” She folds her arms across her waist. “You are jealous?”

“Hardly.” He loosens his uniform as he pops the buttons of her blouse. “I just value professionalism.”

Byleth snorts derisively.

“Clearly you do, Your Highness.” She gestures to herself as she shrugs out of her top and Dimitri gulps as he takes in the black lace corset, matching panties and thigh-high stockings.

He pulls their bodies together, flushing again as he divests her of her remaining clothing.

“This is our place.” He tells her as she fumbles with the buckle of his riding trousers. It would be a chore to dress themselves back again, but neither cared for that now. “Forget about everything while we are here.”

She bends as if to fall to her knees, but he stops her. Now that she is nude, he has other plans for her.

He lifts her in his arms, carrying her to the seat by the tiny working desk and kneeling at her feet. Her eyes widen as he leans in and swipes his tongue across the tender folds of flesh between her thighs.

“Dimitri…” The teacher moans, gripping at his blond, full hair.

It is an unusual flavour. Something spiced and musky, very unlike what he would expect of a woman that spent most of her youth travelling through Adrestia. Yet, despite enjoying the taste, the reaction she has to the soft licks makes him double down on the task.

His is the only name he wants her to call when she is like this.

The prince moves her legs apart in a wider angle, one that allows his forehead to touch her lower abdomen and her knees to rest against his broad shoulder, and she groans and lolls her head back as he curves his tongue and pushes it as far as he can inside of her entrance.

“Holy Star!” Byleth shrieks as he adds one finger and then another to his efforts.

The professor begins to pant and he has to pull back then, to see her quaking at his ministrations. She is a thing of beauty: blue hair splayed around her face and sunlight filtered by the red satin curtains streaming across her nakedness. Her breasts rising and falling with every breath, areolas large and dark.

A bead of sweat rolls down her neck and past the valley, across the plains of her toned midsection and further still to where his digits are pistoning her in and out.

“Please, do not stop!” She begs, and he obliges, returning his mouth to her centre.

It is a strange thing, to have so much power while bowing servantly at someone’s feet. Maybe this is why Sylvain and his delusions of power and status like it so much.

When Byleth explodes, Dimitri is almost mad with desire, balls heavy and muscles taut. He pulls her from the seat to her hands and knees on the ground and enters her from behind with a single, forceful lunge.

“Not too loud.” He cautions into her ear, although a part of him hopes a certain member of the Blue Lions overhears them somehow.

“Say that you are mine.” The prince demands, quickening his thrusts.

“All yours.” She admits it in a whimper that only seasons his arousal.

He pushes her legs together, his knees outside of each of hers so that she is even tighter around him and he ruts once, twice, three more times before spilling himself completely inside of her, in a most unbecoming scene for someone of his high station.

They lie there together, strewn over the cold stone floor, catching their breath, and for a moment he wishes he was just a nameless mercenary on Jeralt’s merry band, so that he could marry her and make her scream like that night and day.

Byleth turns around in his arms and runs a hand across his unmarred cheek.

“A penny for your thoughts?” She whispers softly.

Dimitri swallows heavily. He knows he cannot tell her the ridiculous notion he was entertaining, so he settles for something else that is true, albeit not front of mind.

“I am famished.” He announces as he hefts himself up.

“Seems like you had a pretty healthy breakfast to me.” The woman quips, humoured by their situation.

He laughs, in spite of himself.

“A hearty one.” The prince concurs. “Yet, I found myself more famished than I was before.”

They take their time dressing, kissing tenderly as each garment is thrown and straightened.

They part ways as they exit the room, him heading for the cafeteria and her for the dormitory.

“Victory dinner later?” She asks him hopefully as she retreats.

He smiles. “Certainly.”

Dimitri watches as she walks away, so wrapped up in the sight of her elegant form that he does not realise he is licking his lips.


End file.
